


A Touch of Softness

by Cymbelines



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hannigram Holiday Gift Exchange, M/M, Pecas the dog, because what smarter idea is there than to name a spotted dog freckles?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9918788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbelines/pseuds/Cymbelines
Summary: After Dolarhyde's death, Will and Hannibal reconstruct a new life for themselves in peace. Comfortable together, Will thinks the affection between them does just fine going unsaid. But as Hannibal reminds him, it's nice to be hear words of sweetness spoke aloud- even if speaking them proves itself a challenge. A gift for i-fucking-hate-hiatus.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a Hannigram Holiday exchange gift for Yanteé- she asked for Hannigram fluff and, though I consider myself terrible at this sort of thing, I tried my hand at it. Sorry for the delay in posting you your gift!! I wish you every happiness!

Will Graham leaned against the frame of his front door and considered the darkening sky. In a short while, it’d become difficult to spot his dog, whose shiny, black coat would melt easily into the dark. He shifted where he stood and crossed his arms, anxious for her return.

It has been two years since the death of Francis Dolarhyde and his last victims. Falling into the Atlantic, Will and Hannibal had set in motion waves that, in breaking, carried away in their furl a bit of themselves- they hadn’t kept contact with Alana Bloom and her family or Jack Crawford, but Will knew they lived in wait for them, filled with the inexhaustible fear of an inevitable strike. Their old lives and the people they left behind had a subject Hannibal had spoken of only once- a question not of _if_ they would ever resurface into the lives of those they haunted, but of _when_. But Will enjoyed the peace of their anonymity and felt no rush to unhinge his life from its new foundations. Their old selves had since then been carefully hidden away, folded neatly underneath fraudulent documentation and false names. They had, in time, healed and settled into a private and quiet life in South America. The had, in time, dipped into a deep and irreversible intimacy. 

The dog ran to Will’s feet at long last, barking at him excitedly. He bent down to her, speaking to her affectionately. The mutt, Pecas, had been the product of compromise. She was a sickly and waning thing when they found her in Tamarindo. The wheels of distant motorcycle were still screeching when Will saw her, rasping weakly where she lay on the curb of a dirty street. The dog was a shock of fragility, too small to be looking so mangled and lost. But she was _alive_. Relief bloomed in his chest and then turned into something else- hopefulness, defensiveness, and anger at the stranger who left the poor creature to die. Will couldn’t turn her away and Hannibal, who wasn’t particularly fond of the stray’s smell, only needed a touch of convincing.

The walk home was short from there, pleasant and calm under the setting autumnal sun. When they arrived, Will did quick work of bathing and grooming the dog. He certainly had no qualms about animals in the house- a life without them seemed barren, in fact, and odd. But Hannibal, he knew, was doing his best to curb his apprehensions and the last thing Will wanted was to overwhelm him the first night into bringing the new member of their family home. When he came out with the dog, his clothing ruined with the water and soap of her bath, Hannibal had already prepared a bowl for her food and water. _Oh_ , Will had thought then, his eyes wide with awe. _We're going to be alright._ _We can have this._  And that thought didn't begin and end with the dog between them- it was a sentiment of peace that spread over everything, coloring the future with the promise of compromise and comfort between them for as long as they remained by each other's sides.

It was a neighbor's child, in the end, who named the dog- Freckles, she explained in rounded and careful english, because she has spots. _Pecas_. The dog took to the name with flare and flourished in their home. And, ultimately, despite any initial apprehension from Hannibal’s part, the puppy had grown pointedly attached to him. She followed him about the house and waited mournfully at the front door whenever he was away. She rushed to him upon his return and on more than one occasion had tried to weasel her way into their bed. Incidentally, sharing a bed with Pecas was where Hannibal's graciousness drew to a deceive halt. After all, it was bad enough she would act downright jealous when Will touched Hannibal- the times a soft touch or a lingering kiss was interrupted by her loud, incessant yapping couldn't be numbered. "We're not letting her into our bed," Hannibal said with an air of finality, "it would send entirely the wrong message to her. She'd think you all but replaced and she won't be entirely wrong." 

Will shook his head at the memory, smiling to himself as Pecas sped into the house, yapping excitedly, rushing to find Hannibal. When she found him in the kitchen, Pecas pawed sweetly at his feet. To their shared surprised, the puppy favorited the good doctor- she sought his touch and attention and even whined jealously when Hannibal neglected her in favor for his husband. “She’s more excitable than usual,” Hannibal said easily, looking up to Will as he bent to pet her. “Dinner’s nearly ready and you’ve riled her up.”

“She’ll fall asleep soon. You know, I’ve had so many dogs and I’ve never had one wind herself out as much as she does,” Will spoke, smiling apologetically. He closed the front door behind him, letting in a cool, soothing breeze.  
  
Nodding, Hannibal continued his work. He kneaded into the meat on the cutting board, tenderizing it with his palms before coating it in flour. Will settled beside him at the kitchen counter, soothed by the easy and repetitive notion of Hannibal’s work. The pup had walked away, curled off to some corner of the house. Cicada songs could be heard from the outside, soft and muted enough that Will could only just catch their sound. Will had always felt that the measure of one’s bond with another person could be surmised by how comfortable they felt being together in absolute silence- most people didn’t like all of Will’s silences. People found him awkward and discomforting and he was never particularly good at conversation. Even with Molly, Will felt a need to constantly _speak_ to her, as if all the cold and awkward vacancies between them could be filled to the brim with words. Will learned to compensate. He learned how to ask all the right questions and how to nod enthusiastically at her answers. He memorized the names of her friends, became familiar with her interested, and curbed all the differences between them so that all that was left was the illusion that they had so much in common. Will learned to play the part of normalcy and he put on that act for years, hoping to convince them both that she hadn’t made a mistake with him.

It was ironic, perhaps, that it was only Hannibal, of all people, who never pressured him to speak beyond measure- their relationship began with conversation. But between them, silence was frequent and easy. They seemed to know each other beyond the point of world, as if by sight or touch alone, as if something in their blood connected them intimately to one another so that words were often rendered unnecessary. Will had never felt this _comfortable_ in shared quiet with another person before. More than that, he had never felt so thoroughly understood by another person. 

Will took a soft breath, watching Hannibal with intent now. Tonight it felt as though he was looking at Hannibal for the very first time. Small moments like these in the quiet of their kitchen or in the sweetness of their mornings in bed would fill Will with a curious sort of wonder. Without quite knowing how or when it had started, Hannibal had become so precious, so pivotal, that Will could not imagine a life after him and could hardly remember the world before him. It felt as if life before Hannibal had lost its color, like a nearly-forgotten dream. 

He drank in the image of him. Hannibal was solid: broad-shouldered and strong. His shirt suited him nicely, fitted and unbuttoned at the collar in just the way Will liked. Will liked how Costa Rica had given Hannibal an ease and a beautiful color, his forearms a tan contrast against the white of his rolled-up sleeves. His hair had grown longer; he had taken to sporting a beard. The morning runs they took together now were beginning to show. He looked a little older now and more relaxed and easy-natured than he ever had been in all the years Will had known him, but it suited him well.

“You’re beautiful,” Will blurted out, unthinking. He leaned awkwardly against the kitchen counter, unsure of what to do with his hands. Awkwardly, he dug them into his pockets. 

Hannibal looked up from the cutting board, his eyes round with a subtle, understated surprise. “You’ve never said that to me,” he spoke, sounding pleased but surprised.

“I’m sure 'never' is a bit of an overstatement, Hannibal,” Will frowned. Then, thinking on it, Will realized that he couldn’t actually remember having ever offered his partner such blatant compliments. More often than not, it was Hannibal doing the talking- Hannibal looking to him warmly and leaning to whisper sweet words into his ear, Hannibal complimenting him over something totally absurd so that Will felt bashful and odd. Perhaps, Will considered, he had a point. “Perhaps I don’t think I say it enough aloud, then. But not _never_ .”  
  
“I admit, I’m a bit at a loss as to why you think to tell me so now,” Hannibal said at last, his voice light as he gestured to his hands, his fingers caked in white. “Especially now, when I’ve spent the last hour preparing our dinner and have come out of that work covered in flour.”

“Well, it's just- even now, all covered in flour, I think so. I think so all the time, actually,” Will spoke, feeling his face warm. “I just don’t go around saying these things aloud. I didn't think I had to.” _And it’s difficult for me to tell you so_ , Will didn’t say, but wish Hannibal understood. _Because it’s never been like this with anyone except for you and I don’t know what is I’m supposed to say._

Hannibal ducked his face, turning to the sink, and Will caught the slightest flash of a amusement on his face- a reserved and fleeting smile, there and gone again. Water spilled crystalline over Hannibal’s hands as he washed them, catching a gleam of light from his wedding band. Unconsciously, Will twisted the ring he wore to match. They hadn’t addressed what the rings meant, only speaking of them an accessory of their new identities as a married couple. Still, the gold ring gleamed with some hidden truth, with a glimmer of an oath that Will felt he had taken, despite never having had spoken the words.

  
“You must know how I admire you in turn,” Hannibal said with such easy nonchalance, drying his hands and looking up to Will pointedly. He’d always been such a loquacious speaker, Will thought. Of course he’d be good even at _this_ , at speaking sweet words as if they were careless and natural- as if his mouth were made for kindness, instead of destruction and harm. He continued, “surely you know how beautiful you are to me- how beautiful you’ve always been.”

Will smiled. Closing his eyes, he remembered the first night that marked the rest of their lives- bathed in bloodshed under the moonlight, Hannibal's voice the one and only anchor before a shock of water and stone down below. _It's beautiful_. The desire to touch Hannibal lit like an ember in the dark, threatening to forest out and blaze. The beginnings, Will knew, of a hunger.  
  
Gathering his courage, he settled behind Hannibal, tucking his chin over the other man’s shoulder and wrapping his arms about his waist. Touching was simple. Speaking was infinitely harder but he would give it a try, pushing himself a little harder because he was curious as to what it would inspire. “Your hair’s been growing out for a while now. Have I ever told you what I think of it?” 

Hannibal waited a moment, almost playfully. “You haven’t.”

“Well,” Will spoke, his voice soft. “I like your hair this way _-_ the length, the softness, the grey. I like how it feels between my fingers. It’s a good look on you.”

Hannibal rolled his neck, feeling the wild curls of Will’s hair tickling at the back of it. “Do you know, Will, how often I think of cutting it short?” He breathed a laugh, as if he could see the frown on Will’s face even though he hadn’t turned his face to look at him. “But, of course, then I discover you, looking when you think I can’t see. I suppose it’s a small sacrifice to make to stay in your good graces.”

“And you say _I’m_ the clever one.” Will’s fingers found the nape of Hannibal’s neck, carding up through his hair soothingly before settling back at his neck, the flat of his thumb over Hannibal’s pulse.“How about your voice? Have I told you how much I like that?” 

Hannibal shook his head no and, turning, drew Will out from behind him and into his arms entirely, so that they were loosely settled together, facing each other entirely. Will’s eyes dropped to the faint hint of flour on Hannibal’s shirt, the light and speckled hint of whatever Hannibal had been cooking, staining in a few small dots along his clothing. His focus rose, inevitably, to the line of Hannibal’s lips, and then to the warmth in his eyes as they shared a look. 

“Well,” he began, offering Hannibal a mild smile. “I like the sound of your voice in the mornings. You sound different when you're not speaking English and it catches my ear every time.” Will thought on all the times he’d heard Hannibal speak to him in his native tongue. In his mind, he could recollect each word and fathom the meaning just through the tone in Hannibal’s voice- the words he’d use when he was upset or irritate, the words he used when he would look to Will as if he were the happiest man in the world. “You know, I never thought I’d ever hear you struggle through Spanish. I just sort of assumed you already knew it, like the moment we moved here you’d be doing all the translating for me.”

At that, Hannibal breathed a laugh. “Much to our shared chagrin, I’m only human.”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Will said, his voice thick with mock-disappointment. “It’s nice to know I’m better than you at _something_ , though.” Turning his face, Will kissed Hannibal’s temple and, trailing down, kissed at his ear, teasing the at the cartilage with his teeth. “Have I ever told you what I think of your mouth?”

 “Yes,” Hannibal sighed, closing the space between them so that their foreheads touched. Blindly, his hands searched for Will’s own and, having found them, their fingers laced together tightly. “That you _have_ told me, but I appreciate being reminded all the same."   
  
"I'm sure," Will hummed, narrowing his eyes. "I like your mouth the way I like your hands- I'm the only one in the world who sees the beauty in all they do. You love a thing, Hannibal, or you tear it apart- I've seen you deceive with this mouth. I've seen you convince the world these hands are gentle and meant for saving the lives spread before you and now some corner of the world sees you, but not as you are. I always have. I see you- see how pretty your mouth is, know how potent you are with your hands."  
  
Hannibal leaned forward then, overcome by emotions too fluid to name. Their noses touched as Hannibal’s tried to catch Will’s mouth with his own and he evaded the kiss once, just teasingly, with no real intent or malice. But when Hannibal tried to kiss him again, Will allowed it, and he could feel the smile on the other man’s lips against his own. Each kissed slurred into another easily and the feeling was blissful and sweet, drumming lightly in Will’s chest. 

From somewhere in their small house, Pecas barked, the sound of her small paws tapping across wooden floors. Hannibal scoffed into one last kiss, an almost chaste one as they remembered themselves- the food that still needed cooking, the chores around the house that still needed handling, the dog that was now yapping at their feet. Still, Will brushed his nose against Hannibal’s own and his eyes drew shut. “Have I ever told you what I absolutely love, more than my own life?”  
  
Hannibal shook his head, his eyes still closed.  
  
“I really, truly  _love_ our dog.”  
  
Will didn't know if he had ever, in this history of his life, seen someone as plainly offended as Hannibal Lecter at the precise moment. His face was swept in distaste and he brushed out of Will's embrace coldly. As if aware, their puppy yelped again, high-pitched and excitable as she pawed at Will's legs. He laughed. “Christ, _your face_ \- You know I was joking.”

Hannibal's focus returned to the unprepared food left on the kitchen counter. “Of course," he said, his voice clipped but not severe, "If you need me, I’ll be finishing my dinner.”

Will laughed, his eyes crinkling, his voice warm. "Oh, so I'm going to go hungry now? If memory serves, I was there to help you procure your dinner. Don't I get a share?"   
  
"I'm not sure," Hannibal said and, if he were a less dignified man, Will would have _sworn_ he had sucked his teeth at him. "Why don't you ask your beloved."   
  
"But I did," Will grinned, taking the dog in his arms. She was still small enough to hold and she sounded sweetly, licking contently at the skin of Will's neck. He shook his head, laughing fondly as he bumped into his partner with deliberation. Hannibal was kneaded what would be their meal in due time, his hands coated with flour once more and when Will leaned forward to look him in his face, Hannibal was barely repressing a smile.

"You know, I think she likes you. She might even love you," Will said fondly, laughing, as the dog pawed at the good doctor, now able to reach him. "And I do, too." 


End file.
